“I hope you are not ill?” said he, with an air of feeling. A glance of the most ineffable scorn was her only reply. “It is with sincere sorrow that I inflict this pain upon you,--indeed, when I heard of that unhappy yacht excursion, my mind was made up to see Lord Kilgoff the very moment of his arrival, and, on any pretence, to induce him to leave this. This hope, however, was taken from me, when I beheld the sad state into which he had fallen, leaving me no other alternative than to address yourself. I will not hurt your ears by repeating the inventions, each full of falsehood, that heralded your arrival here. The insulting discussions how you should be met--whether your conduct had already precluded your acceptance amongst the circle of your equals--or, that you were only a subject of avoidance to mothers of marriageable daughters, and maiden ladies of excessive virtue. You have mixed in the world, and therefore can well imagine every ingenious turn of this peculiar eloquence. How was I--I who have known--I who--nay, madam, not a word shall pass my lips in reference to that theme--I would only ask, Could I hear these things, could I see your foot nearing the cliff, and not cry out, Stop?--Another step, and you are lost! There are women who can play this dangerous game with cool heads and cooler hearts: schooled in all the frigid indifference that would seem the birthright of a certain class, the secrets of their affections die with them; but you are not one of these. Born in what they would call an humbler, but I should call a far higher sphere, where the feelings are fresher and the emotions purer, _you_ might chance to--fall in love!” A faint smile, so faint that it conveyed no expression to her eyes, was Lady Kilgoff's acknowledgment of these last words. “Have you finished, sir?” said she, as, after a pause of some seconds, he stood still. “Not yet, madam,” replied he, dryly. “In that case, sir, would it not be as well to tell the man who is lingering yonder to leave this? except, perhaps, it may be your desire to have a witness to your words.” Linton started, and grew deadly pale; for he now perceived that the man must have been in the conservatory during the entire interview. Hastening round to where he stood, his fears were at once dispelled; for it was the Italian sailor, Giovanni, who, in the multiplicity of his accomplishments, was now assisting the gardener among the plants. “It is of no consequence, madam,” said he, returning; “the man is an Italian, who understands nothing of English.” “_You_ are always fortunate, Mr. Linton,” said she, with a deep emphasis on the pronoun. “I have ceased to boast of my good luck for many a day.” “Having, doubtless, so many other qualities to be proud of,” said she, with a malicious sparkle of her dark eyes. “The question is now, madam, of one far more interesting than me.”